


NLOL and TTOTM

by cincoflex



Series: Casa Caliente [5]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M, Lust, Menstruation, ridiculous amounts of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 15:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16642535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: Sara and Grissom deal with nosy little old ladies and that time of the month.





	1. Chapter 1

Casa Caliente 3: NLOL and TTOTM

Chapter One

 

“And of course they WEREN’T termites, but Lucille didn’t believe me even though I’ve told her time and again that flying ants are nothing LIKE termites, and do you think she’d listen to me? Oh NOOO—ever since she and that no account husband of hers got their lawn reseeded, they both think they know every damn bug under the sun. Lucille’s like that—you know, the kind of stuck-up snooty who calls a cockroach a wa-ter-bug, even though everyone else on God’s green earth KNOWS what the hell it is--”

Grissom wished he were deaf.

At least for the duration of this flight home from his last minute quick consultation in San Diego he wished it; so far he’d tolerated the nonstop prattle of his octogenarian seatmate with a few disinterested nods, hoping she would get the hint, but she persisted, rolling on and on and ON with her tirade against the hated, mysterious Lucille as the cottony clouds passed by below them. Grissom discreetly checked his watch, knowing there were only a few minutes more until they approached Las Vegas and he could escape the relentlessly vindictive mandibles of Nonnie Harris, Seatmate from Hell, apparently.

More pleasant thoughts occupied him—images of Sara. THOSE were worth dwelling on, Grissom knew, and they were becoming more persistent in jumping to mind as time passed. It had been a little over two weeks since their last weekend together on Caliente Way, and he found he missed her terribly.

Not just for the sex, which was always still amazing enough to make him stiffen at the mere memory of it, but all the other things that were a part of being with her—the long discussions, the tight, soul-reviving hugs, the laughing look in her deep brown eyes, the way she laughed or brushed her hair and sang while she did it.

Even doing laundry with her was unexpectedly erotic, he mused. He remembered one specific memory with beautiful clarity: watching her sort whites from colors with an intensity she usually reserved for processing evidence. Nothing escaped her scrutiny.

“It’s pastel, it goes with colors,” she’d tugged the dainty bra from his fingers and tossed it into the big pile on her left.

Grissom recalled his mouth twitching as he watched it land on his boxers in a lovely juxtaposition; mute testimony to their relationship. Sara had followed his gaze and laughed. “That’s rather suggestive, isn’t it?”

“Weekend Still Life series one: Bra and Boxers, Las Vegas, Two thousand four, unsigned but in the unmistakable style of Grissom/Sidle,” he’d rattled off impishly, making Sara laugh into a towel. She’d arched an eyebrow at him and he’d held his hands out in a frame around the laundry, pursing his mouth thoughtfully.

“Atypical subject but rife with hints at passion amid the trappings of suburbia. Executed in Palacio acrylics on natural Egyptian cotton canvas. It’s evident that the artists intend an ongoing series in this mode given the depth and clarity of their vision . . .”

“Stop it!” she’d giggled helplessly as he’d batted his eyes at her.

“But it’s such an artistic breakthrough honey—an epiphany of undergarments.”

“It’s LAUNDRY, Gris, not some exhibit at your mom’s gallery. Stop trying to get out of folding your shirts and hop to it there, pal.”

“You know you’re stifling my creativity, Sara. The appropriate knee jerk reaction would be for me to become all broody now, grow a beard, and read Carlos Castaneda and Herman Hesse, while bemoaning the lack of emotional support for the artist and his vision.”

Sara had snorted, neatly dumping a cupful of bleach into the ancient Maytag before turning to look at him with a soft smile. “You know, a beard would tickle."

And so on the strength of Sara’s smile half a month ago here he was, sporting the solid beginning of scruff along his jaw line, and still surprised at his own reflection every time he saw it. He looked at his profile in the glass of the airplane window and sighed.

Next to him, the old lady sighed too.

“It looks God awful, son—like you rubbed glue and cat fur on your face. Not trying to be mean here, but a heavy man like you shouldn’t try to grow a beard; it just makes you look like a young Santa.”

His crestfallen expression made her snort a little, and she reached one claw up to pat his arm.

“Oh please, boy, get real! The only two men who ever looked good in beards were Abraham Lincoln and Robert Goulet, and you ain’t either one, so suck it up and stop looking like a stomped-on a kitten or something.”

On vindictive impulse, Grissom flashed a quick series of hand signs at her //I think YOUR beard’s pretty impressive//

Nonnie Harris shook her head.

“Jesus Jumped up H on a sidecar, a deafy—Christ, no wonder you’ve been quiet all this time. Well it takes all kinds.” Grabbing Grissom’s face, she pulled him close and shouted, “I SEE YOU’RE DEAF, HUH?”

Startled, he blinked under the assault of Lifesaver peppermint and acid reflux that coated her breath. She sucked in another lungful, preparing to yell again, but at that moment the seatbelt sign went on, and with a sigh of relief, Grissom pointed at the light.   
Nonnie squinted at it and let him go. “WE’RE GOING TO LAND!” she shouted helpfully.

Grissom rolled his eyes and signed again.  
//No—sh--// he paused, and changed the signs midstream, //--kidding.//

The spiteful streak within him died though as Nonnie patted his arm and smiled, watching his fingers form the words she would never understand. She reached for her handbag, and Grissom glanced out the dark window, longing for home.

*** *** ***

Sara glanced in the mirror and ran a hand through her hair nervously, wishing the curl would stay, but it was already falling out despite her efforts. The locker room was empty and she was grateful for that as she looked at the tiny calendar tacked up on the door of her locker, noting the discreet letter P scribbled in today’s date box with a sinking feeling.

Not something she wanted to have to tell Grissom, especially after almost fifteen days apart, but trying to deny the realities of the situation wasn’t her style, and she knew it was something they’d have to cope with eventually.  
Hank had been—squeamish, which seemed odd considering the job he did, but Sara knew his attitude was pretty typical of most men. She glanced at the upper shelf, letting her gaze rest on the dark blue box there and sighed to herself as the low dull throb of cramps began to tighten around her lower back.

As she stepped out of the locker room, she glanced over at Grissom’s office, trying to do so inconspicuously, and was quickly thrilled to see the light on. Through the glass she caught a glimpse of his back; Sara hurried to his doorway, clinging to it in an effort not to launch herself at him.“Hey! Glad to see you’re back.”

He turned, and in one brief unguarded moment, she caught the full impact of his bright-eyed smile: tender, hungry, adoring. Then he made a supreme effort and his expression faded away to a neutral nod. “Got in a few minutes ago, Sara. How was the wedding?”

Sara stepped in to the office and ran a hand on the corner of his desk, desperate to touch SOME thing. While she could master her expression, her body wasn’t so easily controlled. She wandered closer.

“The cops broke up the reception, so it was pretty typical for Sorcha—Hey! I see you’re growing a beard.”

He ran a hand along his jaw, wincing a little at the memory of Nonnie Harris’s assessment, but Sara’s brown-eyed stare glowed.  
“Yes, well according to my seatmate on the plane I look pretty bad.”

“Your seatmate was blind or stupid or BOTH,” Sara breathed back quickly. Her hand came up, but she caught herself and pulled away, all too aware of the glass walls around them.

“I might shave it . . .”

“Please don’t,” Sara pleaded in an undertone.  
Grissom looked at her steadily, a hint of a smile around his mouth.“If that’s what you want . . ." he acquiesced softly. 

She gave a small tight nod, not daring to say more. At that moment Catherine breezed in and dropped her hands on her hips, grinning broadly at the sight of him. “Well well—looking rather rugged aren’t we?”

Reluctantly turning his gaze from Sara to Catherine, Grissom gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Suggestion of a noted colleague of mine.”

Catherine snorted. “Just because Robbins has one—whatever. Looks pretty good on you.”

“Thanks. What’s currently happening with our caseload?”

Catherine sighed and Sara stepped out again, suddenly aware of a little trickle beginning deep within her. She sighed.

*** *** ***

“Robbery gone bad—four dead, four wounded and two escaped perps. We’ve got one in custody, but he claims he didn’t shoot any of the victims,” Brass rumbled, staring into the broken floor to ceiling windows of the electronics store. Grissom and Warrick looked around the showroom floor, taking in the bloodstains and shattered glass.

“These windows are usually safety glass, reinforced to building code—to shatter one . . .” Warrick began.

“Shotguns,” Brass confirmed soberly. “The three gunmen hit the place about three minutes to closing, not realizing there would still be several customers here along with the clerks. So far we’ve confirmed dead, Shelly Whorley, Delia Campos, David Lytch, Nonnie Harris—”

“Did you say Nonnie Harris?” Grissom turned his head rapidly to look at Brass, who checked his notes.

“Yeah, from San Diego.”

“In her seventies, Caucasian?” Grissom persisted.

Brass nodded again. “You know her?”

“I sat next to her on the flight in no more than four hours ago.”

Brass winced. “Not a good coincidence.”

“No. I’ve got to take myself off the case, Jim. The defense would play up the potential bias of knowing a victim personally, no matter how brief the contact.”

Brass nodded and Warrick drew in a deep breath as he glanced at Grissom. “Okay. Give me Nick and Catherine then so Sara and Greg can be on standby with you.”

Nodding, Grissom shot one last glance at the scene and took in Brass’s stare at his face.  
“Going for distinguished these days?”

Grissom tossed off another shrug and Brass smiled gently. “More trouble than they’re worth, Gil.”

“Like a lot of things in life, Jim.”

With that parting shot, Grissom climbed into his car and drove off.

*** *** ***

Sara glanced up from her clipboard, wondering what had tripped her personal radar. The odd little sensation that she was being watched felt like a tickle on the back of her neck, and she looked around cautiously, trying to find the source. Here in the hall leading to the garage the glass walls were darker, and she knew only authorized personnel were permitted beyond this point, so the sight of an unfamiliar woman wandering her way startled her. Sara caught her eye and smiled; the woman smiled back.

“Can I help you?” Sara asked, stepping in front of the woman.

She was older, Sara noticed, with thick, curly white hair in an impish pixie cut. Her figure was trim, and neatly encased in a smart skirt set of pink and gray wool knit with a handbag on her arm that matched it. It was her smile that won Sara over though, a mischievous turn of her lips, hinting at secrets that might or might not be shared.

She nodded. “I tink I am loss,” she told Sara.

“Ohh . . .” Sara quickly caught the loppy speech cadence and recognized it as typical of the hearing impaired. She stepped closer glancing at the visitor’s badge clipped to the woman’s collar, verifying it was legitimate.

“Where were you going?” Sara asked, making sure to look at the woman as she spoke.

“Docto Grissom’s office,” came the low reply. Sara blinked, surprised.

“Oh---well it’s this way,” she waved, and then stepped ahead to lead, guiding the woman back down the confusing corridors to the central hub of the Lab and ultimately to Grissom’s office. It was dark, and Sara flicked the lights on as she stepped in.

The older woman looked around the office and Sara caught the slightly exasperated expression that crossed her face. “Goo God, mow jars.”

The nagging suspicion tugging at Sara grew and she looked more closely at the woman, noting the familiar blue eyes with laugh lines. Moving into the woman’s line of vision, she blurted, “You’re his mother, aren’t you?”

Smiling, the woman nodded, holding out her hand, which Sara took and shook. It was cool and surprisingly callused, the nails painted a light pink. “Olibia Grissom,” she intoned carefully, searching Sara’s face and apparently liking what she saw.

Sara smiled broadly. “Sara Sidle. I work with Gris—your son,” she added hastily.

Olivia nodded, scrutinizing her carefully. “Yet, he mentioned you,” she murmured with an enigmatic smile, “More dan once. It he here tonight?”

Sara, not sure what to make of the first part of this startling comment, glanced around, but the lab was fairly empty at the moment except for the dour frame of Hodges a few rooms up and Bobby down the hall in ballistics. When she looked back, Olivia was still smiling at her head cocked to one side. “You are tunning—and I dess dis mean he’d NOT gay—Tank God.” came the sigh of relief.

Sara stared at her, and Olivia lightly flopped her hand, letting the wrist go limp in an exaggerated gesture easily recognizable.  
Sara bit her lips, struggling hard with a mild case of sudden and inappropriate giggles, but the older woman patted her arm, and on her face Sara could see the same struggle for dignity. She knew she had to say SOME thing reassuring. “Mrs. Grissom . . ."

“Olibia,”

“Olivia, I can pretty much assure you that your son’s straight,” Sara announced in as serious a tone as she could, but it was a losing battle in the face of Olivia’s sweet, familiar smirk. Both women burst into giggles at the same time, Olivia clutching the back of the office chair for support as Sara wrapped her arms around her own waist and rode the chuckles out.

When she finally caught her breath, she found Olivia wiping her eyes, still smiling. “Ohh da did me goo—aldo I tuppose I’ll hab to top teasing him now.”

Sara nodded and looked up, a shock going through her system as she recognized the figure coming down the hall towards them. He was quick and suddenly--

Grissom stood in the doorway, his gaze first on her, then on his mother. Swiftly his hands flew, right one open and skimming down his jaw.  
//Mom?//

Olivia rose and Grissom stepped forward, picking her up in a quick hug, kissing the top of her head. Watching, Sara felt a pang on a heart chord at the sight of him so unabashedly animated with someone else. 

Olivia batted at her son’s head playfully as he easily swung her around. “Top! Top and pu me down, Grissom!”

Smirking, he did, receiving a nose squeeze for his trouble. Sara tried to discreetly slip past the mother and son reunion, but Olivia snagged the sleeve of her lab coat, stopping her from making the graceful exit. Grissom pinkened slightly in the face of his mother’s scrutiny.  
“Mom, this is Sara,” as he spoke his hands flew in quick signs, adding, //Don’t you DARE tell her what I said about her to you! One word and you’re dead meat, mom.//

Olivia arched an eyebrow at his slightly desperate expression, well aware that she was suddenly and deliciously in the catbird seat. She signed back quickly. //Blackmail time!//

//Mom--// came the warning followed with a quick frown. Puzzled, Sara watched until Grissom looked at her, struggling to keep his expression poker-faced.  
“I guess you’ve met my mom,” he blurted quickly. 

Sara nodded, rubbing her nose to hide her grin. “Yes, sure did. Well, I guess you two have a lot to talk about, and I’ve got a car to process—so . . .”

“So—I’ll see you later,” Grissom told her, trying desperately to catch her glance. Sara turned away though and walked off down the hall as he watched. When he turned back, his mother was watching him keenly.

Her hands fluttered. //You are SO doing her.//

//Mom!//


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 

But Olivia merely smiled and reached out a hand to touch the thickening stubble along his chin. //Nice. I like it.//

Grissom’s expression softened and he smiled at his mother, shaking his head slightly. //Thanks. But I’m sure you didn’t come to Las Vegas just to say that. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?//

Olivia’s graceful hands flew quickly and Gris squinted, trying to keep up. //I TRIED, but someone doesn’t check his E-mail in a timely fashion! I’m here for Petrov’s opening. He’s got a major exhibit tomorrow night, and needs the emotional support.//

Grissom rolled his eyes, familiar with the artist in question. Olivia smiled with unnerving sweetness. //You’ve told me time and time again that Petrov is a whiny self-centered neurotic.// he complained.

//Yes, but he’s talented and makes me a nice commission so for that reason you’re going to help me out, Gil dear.//

His brows dropped in a scowling frown as his fingers responded. //Now I’m in trouble. You only throw in the ‘dear’ when you WANT something Mom—what is it?//

//You and Sara to come to the opening tomorrow night.//

//NO.//

//Did you just sign ‘no’ to ME, your loving mother?//

//Yes.//

//Good, it’s settled then, // Olivia smirked. Grissom caught her small hands between his own, trapping them and shook his head firmly.  
“NO, Mom. Read my lips and I KNOW you can—NO.”

Olivia Grissom came dangerously close to a pout, her eyebrow arching in an uncanny mirror of his as the stare down continued. Grissom spoke softly and slowly. “Despite what you THINK you know, I will neither confirm or deny your perceptions. Sara loves her job. I love MY job. So as long as that’s our situation we’re colleagues.”

Olivia tugged her hands from his and signed. //At work.//

Grissom hesitated, just long enough for his mother to smile broadly. She gave a nod and then sighed. //All right then, I can’t play the blackmail card. How about the guilt one?//

Gris pursed his mouth and went around to his desk, settling in the chair as his mother cocked her head at him.

“Do your worst,” he challenged, looking loftily at her. She dramatically pressed a hand to her chest, sighing.  
//I’m seventy-FOUR, Gilbert Gordon Grissom, with a weak constitution.//

“Mom, you powerwalk three miles a day and do yoga,” Grissom snorted, sorting through a case file of crime scene photos. “That hardly qualifies you as feeble.”

//Conserving my energy. I’m trying not to die while my future grandchildren are still in your boxers!//

Startled, Grissom blushed, looking at his mother who refused to meet his eye. He rubbed his face to hide the heat, and at that moment Nick looked in the office door.

“Oh hey Grissom, didn’t know you had company,” he commented cheerfully. Olivia smiled at him while Grissom signed hastily.

//Nick Stokes—the one from Texas. //

“Nick, this . . . is my mother, Olivia Grissom.”  
Startled at the sign language, Nick held out his hand then hesitated; Olivia cupped his big one in her two and beamed at him. “Pease to meet you.”

“Likewise ma’am.”

“Nick would you take her to the break room—I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Ah, sure thing.”

Grissom slipped out.

Within two minutes he was lowering himself on a dolly and rolling under the battered Gremlin, scooting closer to the long overall-clad legs already under it. Under the chassis, Sara glanced at him in surprise, big eyes blinking behind her goggles.“Grissom?”

“Yeah. We’ve got a problem.”

“So—talk to me,” she grinned, aware of his discomfort and suspecting the reason for it. “Let me guess—your mom still thinks you’re gay?”

The dour glance he shot her was enough to make her laugh loudly and somewhat heartlessly. Grissom reached over and pulled her dolly until it bumped against his, shifting to face her. Sara opened her mouth to speak and suddenly found herself engulfed in a deep demanding kiss of such sweet intensity she could feel her toes curl deep in her boots. She broke away with a little whimper of pleasure as Grissom whispered, “There—serious evidence I am NOT into window treatments or rainbow marches.”

“I-I’m not fully convinced. I may need repeated samples to reach a definite conclusion.”

“Not HERE, and certainly not under a Gremlin. Of all the weekends for my mom to come to town—”

Sara gave a crooked smile of commiseration, taking her goggles off. “Yeah, well it might be better in the long run anyway. I have my OWN visitor right now.”

“I know,” came Grissom’s low voice, “I was looking forward to it.”

Stunned, Sara rolled over to face him, setting her goggles on the floor by her head. He turned his head and watched her, his eyes hungry.

“You’re kidding.”

“No, not really—it’s the biologist in me I suppose, but on some basic primitive level your cycle hits a hot button—the vestiges of estrus I guess. All I know is that as far as MY body chemistry knows, you’re in heat.”

“That’s SUCH a pleasant image,” Sara tried to protest, but she blushed and fought the urge to squirm. Grissom’s kiss had stirred her hormones to frenzy, and his words were NOT helping at all.

He drew in a breath. “That upsets you? Tell me now because I need to know how things are going to be about this, Sara.”

“No, no it doesn’t squick me out per se.” She caught his tenderly skeptical glance and added, “Much. I just didn’t think you’d be the more primal of the two of us.”

“Ah. Well up to this point I haven’t had a chance to do more than wrestle with my libido when your pheromones change. Still, it’s not going to be an easy weekend. My mother wants us to go to an opening tomorrow night and she’s not about to take no for an answer.”

“Really?” Sara fixed her gaze on him and Grissom felt his face flush a little under her scrutiny. “Why?”

“Because she’s my MOTHER,” he replied, as if this should be self-evident. “She . . . knows.”

“She suspects, she doesn’t know, not for sure,” Sara murmured, “Inference isn’t fact.”

“Spoken like a woman who hasn’t been subjected to—never mind. We can either go, graciously, or refuse and suffer the slings and arrows of wounded matriarchal pride. What say you?”

Sara picked up her goggles, her attention focused on a suspicious streak on the oil pan over her head. Reaching for a swab, she carefully wiped and capped it before flashing a smile at the man next to her. “I say I don’t know what art is, but I know what I like.”

*** *** ***

By the time Grissom made it back to the break room his mother had charmed the crew. As usual. He looked in at her surrounded by Catherine, Warrick, Nick with a sense of familiar amusement, watching her bright eyes darting from face to face as she held court.  
“De nakes were de wors do. I don mine de bugs or de rat, but I drew de line at a coba.”

Catherine looked up at Gris, smirking. “A cobra, Grissom? For shame!”

He gave a shrug, but signed to his mother. //In a fair fight you could have taken the cobra, Mom.//

//Shhh! Working the crowd here, son.// she flashed back imperiously. 

He managed a soft smile and looked around the group. “Not to be the spoilsport guys, but we have work to do—Warrick how do we stand on the shootout?”

“Blood, fiber and some unknown trace samples getting processed now, and Greg’s got some DNA from the countertop and one of the doorframes. Catherine found some hair caught in it.”

“Good. Nick?”

“Still processing the tires from the Gremlin used in that hit and run over on the north side.”

“I think Sara found something on the undercarriage, so go check with her. Mom, it’s dinner break now, so let’s go eat.”

So saying, he took his mother firmly by the elbow and steered her out of the break room; she waved at Warrick and Catherine.“Ni to mee you.”

Café Corazon was open, and Grissom settled his mother into a booth then watched her finger through the laminated menu card, biding her time. He folded his hands on the table and waited.

//Lyndon O’Shea wants to buy me out.// she signed at last.

//He’s wanted to do that for the last six years, Mom.//

//Yes, well now I’m actually considering it, Gil. The day-to-day is finally grinding me down, and Alex . . .// she blushed.

Grissom smiled and arched an eyebrow at his mother as the waitress came over. Once they’d ordered, he waggled his fingers again. //And Alex what? Finally got you to agree to that grand tour of Europe offer?// came his knowing question.

Olivia looked at her son and winked. //Yes. The Cathedrals of England, France and Spain beckon if I sell the gallery. What do you think?//

//Do what moves you Mom. Follow your heart. You don’t need my permission or approval for that.//

Olivia nodded, as if this was the answer she’d expected all along. Grissom kept her gaze, and she shyly let her fingers ask the question. //I have to know, Gil dear. What’s her voice like?//

He took a moment before replying, his large elegant hands moving in stops and starts; the visual equivalent of a stammer. //Husky. Low. She has a West Coast inflection that runs right up my spine sometimes.//

Olivia smiled, cocking her head, nodding. He continued. //Her voice was the one I knew I’d miss the most.//

//Gil--//

//Sometimes, when she says my name--// his fingers stopped in mid-air, and Grissom pressed his lips together tightly, caught in a brief unguarded moment of wonder.

Olivia swiftly reached over and squeezed his still fingers. She let her own flutter quickly. //Getting sentimental, Gilbert,// came her tender observation. He was saved from denial by the arrival of dinner.

*** *** ***

Sara looked in the mirror, smoothing the material down over her hips; she frowned. The color was fine, a lovely shade between green and grey with hints of sage through the watered silk of it, but the hemline seemed a little short. She glanced at the closet and then the clock, shaking her head ruefully as she realized she didn’t have time to change her mind anymore.

“Come on Sidle, it’s showtime,” she announced to her reflection, rolling her eyes as she stepped into her sandal heels. One last look in the mirror . . .

Her hair was pinned up, with little tendrils in front of each ear. Small peridot studs that caught the light. Simple silk dress with fitted 3/4th sleeves, scoop neck. She turned and glanced again, smirking.

The dress was nearly backless, the low scoop dropping to just above the swell of her buttocks, showcasing her long elegant spine and ending in an enticing bow. “Screw subtlety,” she told her reflection, which winked back. Sara picked up the grey velvet clutch purse as the doorbell rang; she sauntered over and checked the spy hole.

Oh yes. No blue suit tonight, no this one was rich black, with a grey dress shirt and burgundy tie flecked with more black. The coloring complimented Grissom’s iron-grey hair and beard, and looking at him Sara felt a rush of desire so strong, she leaned against the door to support herself.

“Sara?” he called a trifle impatiently, moving to press the button again. She yanked the door open, flashing a tight smile at him. Grissom froze.

“Okay, I think I’m ready . . . Gris?”

“Saaaa . . .” he trailed off, blue eyes wide, drinking in the sight of her with a desperate intensity that thrilled her. She gave a half turn, letting him catch a glimpse of her back; he took a step forward, compelled.

“You can’t wear that. You can’t _almost_ wear that,” Grissom corrected himself in a slightly choked voice. 

Sara fought the urge to agree and kept her expression as neutral as she could.“Why not?”

“Why not? Because I SAID so.” This came out with such utter conviction that Sara blinked. He took another step, so close now she could feel his breath on her lips.

“Then I guess I’ll stay home,” she whispered silkily. “Give my regards to your mom.”

They stood there in the doorway of her apartment, the two of them caught in a delicate tension woven with cords of lust and frustration. Grissom held Sara’s gaze as she lifted her chin and murmured, “Compromise?”

“I’m listening.”

“I wear the dress--you call the shots now and late. In totality.”

“I’d do that anyway,” he countered, but his eyes were warmer, his voice amused. 

Sara flicked her tongue over her plum-colored lips.“Not to the degree I’m offering tonight,” she purred. “And this would be . . .”

“ . . . In public,” he finished thoughtfully, the azure of his eyes gleaming. Sara said nothing more, waiting, hoping.

With a soft twitch of his mouth, Grissom nodded, once. He looked her over one more time, taking Sara in from her manicured toes to her pinned up hair with a stare that missed nothing.

He spoke in a soft voice of ruthless sincerity. “If it wasn’t for this obligation to my mother, I’d take you over my knee, Sara Sidle, but that would be AFTER I’d taken you a few times in other ways. Let’s go.”

She followed him out onto the dark street, her heart beating fast, her mouth dry.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Bellacova’s Gallery was a lovely two-story loft off of Mountain Spring Road, across the street from Art Encounter. Grissom parked the Tahoe and turned his countenance to Sara in the semidarkness of dusk.

“Let me explain a few things, Sara. We are about to enter an exclusive subset of humanity not quite like any other. This is the Art world, and it’s my mother’s hunting ground, plain and simple. You and I are here as pawns for her tonight, so don’t be surprised at anything that happens around her.”

Sara looked apprehensive; Grissom gave a little sigh of resignation and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’ll flirt and fight and make outrageous claims, so just smile and nod. You might even look at the art if you want.”

“Wine, cheese on toothpicks, small talk with big names?” she grinned.

Grissom nodded. “Precisely. Throw in Claes, Muro or Mondrian and you’re in. Tonight’s artist is Petrov, who’s nowhere near their league. I think Mom mentioned he’s in an Annoyed Nudes period.”

Sara grimaced and unbuckled her seatbelt while Grissom climbed out and reached her door, tugging it open for her. “Oh, and before I forget—” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

She welcomed his tongue into her mouth with breathless delight, losing herself in the hot, wet kiss. Regretfully Grissom pulled back after a long delicious moment. “If you want me as much as I want you . . .” he muttered.

“Yes?” she reached for him again, happily breathing in the Cheval Noir along his jaw line but he stepped back from her embrace and cocked his head, his expression unexpectedly sweet.

“Then let’s seriously consider leaving early. I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah, well the feeling is mutual, Grissom. This dress is supposed to remind you of that,” she batted her eyes at him as she tucked her clutch under one arm. He offered her his arm along with a deep blue glance.

“And every time I look at your back I want to lick your spine, from nape to dimples,” he whispered, his face alternating between amusement and lust, “So I think it’s working.”

Sara considered this and preened for a moment as they strode closer to the brightly lit front doors.

“Hey, it’s not as if it’s any easier for me not to seduce YOU at the moment either—I like you in suits. A lot.”

He shot her a sideways glance, an interesting flicker of intrigue and desire passing through his features. “Would you?” he asked softly.

“Would I what?”

“Seduce me?”

Sara stopped, and looked into his face carefully, not quite believing what she heard.

Grissom said nothing more, his ears slightly pink as he let her stare at him for a few long heartbeats; slowly a smile spread across her face, her languid full wattage one.“Grissom, Grissom,” Sara softly cooed, “Will you play a game with me?”

His first reaction was a tensing of his jaw, barely perceptible in the dusk, but Sara knew his face well enough to see it. She lifted her chin and kept her gaze on his.

“I . . . WANT to.” the words came reluctantly from him, slow and low. She gave an encouraging nod, trying to suppress the enthusiasm coursing through her at his admission.

“Gil!” a deep voice cut through the night, shattering the moment. Both Grissom and Sara looked up as a compact, aristocratic man bore down on them, his laugh floating in deep rich chuckles.

“Alex!” Grissom responded with genuine warmth. He slid a hand down Sara’s spine and held the other one out to the approaching figure, who shook it heartily.

“You’re looking splendid tonight, your mother will be SO pleased. How DID she manage to pull you away from your microscopes and cadavers? You never come to these things,” came the soft English accent.

Grissom managed an eloquent shrug that the other man understood perfectly.

He laughed again, a deep low sound before turning to look at Sara. “Asked and answered I see!”

“Ah. Sara Sidle, this is Sir Alexander De Montavallo, my mother’s . . . friend.”

Sara found herself smiling down at the man simply because his entire joyful countenance demanded it. He was short and dapper, exquisitely dressed in a mahogany silk suit of impeccable cut. She noticed he had the deep soulful eyes of a Basset hound behind wire frame glasses, that his hair was a white shoulder-length mane, and that it matched the trim goatee that framed his smile as he took her hand and lightly kissed it.

“A pleasure beyond measure, Miss Sidle, truly.”

“Thank you,” came her reply, somewhat breathlessly as Grissom’s hand stroked her bare back.

Alex seemed to sense the underplay and his eyes twinkled as he ushered them through the doors and into the lobby of the gallery. “Yes, well I warn you Miss Sidle, that tonight may prove rather interesting. Petrov is in a rare snit, and Olivia has her hands full trying to calm him down. The last time this happened he ate his socks and had to have his stomach pumped, all rather disgusting of course, but that’s the man’s temperament. Come, I would adore showing you off to Lyla and Trevor and Boots.”

So saying, Alex offered Sara his arm; she shot a look at Grissom who hesitated.

Alex laughed his warm chuckle again. “I’ll offer you the other one, Gil, and we can annoy the very daylights out of your mother by walking in singing ‘Lions and Tigers and Bears Oh My!”

It was an outrageous thing to suggest, and yet somehow perfect for breaking the tension. Sara snickered, and Grissom broke into a bemused smile as Alex held out his other arm.  
He shook his head. “She’d never hear us, OR forgive us—at least not you and me,” came Grissom’s reply.

Alex gave a rueful nod and sighed. “All too true—very well. I’m obliged to go help her with Petrov, but shall return in short order. I suggest the two of you go for the salmon but pass on the Brie if you can. Miss Sidle—”

With a courtly bow Alex dipped his head and winked to her on the rise, then briskly moved ahead of them through a well-lit front hall, surging with the crowd.

Sara glanced up at Grissom and he worked his jaw back and forth slightly. “Alex and Mom go back a long way—about thirty three years.”

Sara continued to stare as they slowly walked in. Grissom looked distinctly uncomfortable and shot her a wry smile.

So you’ve known him since you were fifteen? Why aren’t they—“

“Married? It’s a long story.”

*** *** ***

Sara tapped a knuckle on the edge of her teeth in an attempt to look serious as she studied the massive painting before her.

It was entitled, The Irritation of Anya, and seemed appropriate given the grimacing expression of the subject. Sara moved until she was just behind Grissom’s left shoulder, and she gave a thoughtful sigh.  
“Opinion?”

“Petrov asked her if she gained weight,” he responded knowingly.

Sara bit back a laugh, lightly running her hand along his arm in a slow caress of his muscles under the cloth. “That would do it all right. Is he always so misanthropic?” She let her hand linger along his forearm.

Grissom tilted his head and let his glance brush hers. “He’s noted for his tactlessness. Mom tells me the models all hate him, but he pays well, so they put up with it. I want you.”

All of this came out in a mild, chatty tone, but Sara felt the heat of his gaze and blushed slightly. 

She slowly withdrew her hand. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it,” she asked softly, studying another painting in the alcove they’d wandered into.

Grissom shifted, his shoulder rubbing hers, his hand sliding with a light sensuous stroke along her spine. “I want to get out of here and into YOU. Pretty basic, Ms. Sidle. I want to screw you up against the front door of our place, right under your dress.”

Sara leaned close and let her lips brush his ear. “That’s amazingly primitive of you, Gris—and we won’t have to use a condom either,” she purred. He chuffed out a quick breath involuntarily, lashes fluttering as she sighed into his ear, the two of them standing close together.

“Naked in me. That’s going to feel like hot slick heaven after two weeks without you. Not making love either—fuck-ing, Grissom. Good deep slow ‘take me HARD’ fucking, lover—”

Sara tried to hide the tremor in her legs and looked at him, gauging the effect of her words. When he turned his face to hers, she bit back a moan at the fierce blue glitter of his eyes.

“Christ, Sara!“ he growled, his voice deep and slightly wild. She took a step back, licking her lips.

“Ten minutes more, Grissom. I need you too,” she whispered, turning and sauntering out of the alcove, knowing he would be behind her within minutes to herd her to the car. The lovely lurch of anticipation made her giddy and she almost didn’t see Olivia wave to her.

Sara blinked.

“Tara—“ Olivia said again with a patient smile. She was standing by a display case with a ceramic bowl in it, and Sara came over to her slowly, trying to will away the flush in her face.

“Uh, hi. Interesting party,” Sara muttered, trying to think of something to say. Olivia rolled her eyes, fiddling with the heavy gold bracelet around one slender wrist. She was in a black sheath dress, with enormous bangle earrings of beaten gold just under her pixie cut hair.

“Gil alway hated dem. He and Alec used to pay poker in de back woom when I had openings.”

Sara grinned. Olivia looked down at the bowl for a moment. “I ought to send you de first picture he dwew for me. A cwassic.”

“No Mom,” came Grissom’s mild but annoyed voice. He came up beside Sara and looked at his mother.

She grinned. //But it’s SUCH a good story, Gil!// came the elegant signs.

He pursed his mouth. //And you’re going to tell it anyway, aren’t you? What did I do to deserve this?//

//Oh hush and make an old lady happy.//

//I’m adopted.//

//Dream on, Gil--//

Sara, lost in the middle of all this finger fighting looked from one to the other and Olivia laughed softly. “I had taken him to tee a movie, and my son rooted for de monster of course. We came home and he drew de way de movie SHOULD have ended, complete wid dead soldiers and body parts everywhere. Wore down his red crayon completely.”

“What was the movie?” Sara asked, trying not to laugh at the image of a little Gil Grissom earnestly scribbling away at a coffee table in the past. Grissom drew in a deep breath and tried for dignity.

“The Deadly Mantis. They’re marvelous predators you know, much more intelligent than portrayed on screen and I’m still convinced it was a terrible decision to hit it with an atomic weapon—what?”

Both Sara and Olivia were struggling with giggles, synchronized in a perfect understanding of the man standing with them. Olivia reached out for Sara’s hand, squeezing it with surprising strength as she choked out, “Tee? Tee what I mean? Onwy Gil.”

Before Grissom could defend his youthful artistic vision, Alex sauntered up, signing with ease, his gaze adoringly fixed on Olivia. //Now now my love, you’ll frighten the girl off. Pace yourself—there are plenty of embarrassing stories to trot out.//

Olivia made a face, but couldn’t hold it long as she smiled at him. Grissom caught Sara’s eye and gave a long-suffering sigh.

“It’s time. Mom, Alex, lovely opening, I hope Petrov makes you a fair commission but I think we’ll call it a night.”

His mother nodded gracefully, turning her cheek for a kiss that Grissom dutifully dropped on it. She signed quickly. //Alex and I are doing a late brunch at the Gilded Lily late tomorrow. Come join us if you can, Gil dear.//

//No promises--//

Alex was kissing Sara’s hand again, his basset eyes dark and smiling. “Lovely to meet you my dear. I hope to see you again soon. Olivia—I think Boots has gotten into another spat with the reviewer from Modern Art—shall we go referee?”

They patted Sara and Grissom’s hands, then strolled off together, signing animatedly. Sara watched them with a pang of tenderness welling in her chest. She glanced at Grissom to see him watching them as well. “They’re amazing.”

“They’re plotting—“ Grissom sighed with a bemused expression. Giving a shake, he turned to look at Sara, the faintest of smiles touching the corner of his mouth.

She shot him a flirtatious look. “So am I—I seem to be without a way home. Would you mind terribly if I rode you—that is, got a ride from you?”

The warm glitter returned to his eyes.

“Ms. Sidle, are you trying to seduce me?”

“Let’s get into a nice dark car and find out.”

*** *** ***

Streetlights flickered past in a quick strobe of white slashes through the darkness as they drove. Sara gripped the clutch in her lap tightly enough to make her knuckles white. They were heading away from the bright lights of Las Vegas into the quiet suburbs and the peaceful darkness of the night.

Sara tried to calm her breathing down, tried to loosen the tension that was lodged between her shoulders and thighs, but it seemed impossible to do. She was glad she’d stopped in the bathroom to remove her tampon, all too aware of the man sitting next to her, of the heat radiating off from him. They had barely exchanged words since climbing into the car, and yet both of them were perfectly aware of each shift of thighs, each soft breath.

She risked a glance at him just as they passed a sodium arc light at the corner of Sahara and Caliente and caught his profile against the darkness. Sara was struck again at just how handsome Grissom was, leonine in both temperament and presence. The light caught the planes of his face, the shadows of his lashes and nose.

“The warm beast of desire lies curled up in our loins and stretches itself with a fierce gentleness,” he sighed, twisting his head to smile at her. “Camus.”

There was a pause.

“I want to play with your warm beast of desire, Gil. Pet it, stroke it, squeeze it deeply between my thighs tonight,” came Sara’s husky sweet voice.

“Yes.” He gripped the wheel a little tighter and nodded. His nostrils flared a tiny bit.

A simple word, but full of promise. Sara looked up the dark road, savoring the sound of it. Caliente way was a blur of dark shadows with an occasional light flickering by. The Tahoe reached the gravel driveway and Grissom turned, sharply.

As he turned the engine off, Sara moved, quickly. She yanked open the door and flew out, coming around the front of the car to his side and tugging on the door. Confused, Grissom climbed out and she laid a hand on his chest.

“Dance with me—” came her soft plea. He stared down at the palm pressed against him noting the long fingers, the tapered wrist and fine muscles in the dim moonlight. When his gaze traveled to her face she smiled crookedly at him, Grissom laid his hand on hers and tugged her into his arms, slowly.

“Come here—“

Sara slid into his embrace, molding to him, pressing herself along the wall of his broad chest. The soft merging of their auras thickened the lovely erotic tension between them, and her nervousness pooled down her spine, flooding between her hips.

“Night and day, you are the one,” came Grissom’s rumble into her ear. She grinned, and they rocked gently in the darkness.

“Only you beneath the moon and under the sun,” One of his hands slid along her naked back in a slow caress as the other one held her hand against his chest. Sara ground her hips a little more firmly against him and was rewarded with a little hitch in his breath.

“W-whether near to me or far—”

He slowly shifted her backwards, guiding her up the two steps of the porch as he continued to sing softly.“It’s no matter darling where you are, I think of you—”

Sara felt his face drift closer to hers inexorably until the last phrase of the lyric was chanted right against her lips. “Night and day—"

She laughed softly, overwhelmed, achingly aroused, wanting the moment to last forever just like this. Her mouth met his in a hot kiss, their tongues circling eagerly as his hands began to shift. With a groan Grissom broke away to raggedly sing again. Sara plucked open his coat buttons, smoothing her hands against his shirt.

“Nnnnight and day, under the hide of me, Sara, there’s such a hungry yearning burning inside of me,” came the refrain as his palms slid up the back of her bare thighs, letting the hemline of her dress pool over his wrists. Her hands moved down the front of him, finding his straining fly and caressing it. Deftly Sara unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, letting his heavy shaft surge against her palm, eager and wet. She licked Grissom’s throat as his rapid pulse beat against her lips.

“And it’s torment won’t be th-th-through,” he rasped, his hands cupping her bare bottom and lifting her up. Her naked back pressed against the cool wood of the door and she gasped even as her fingers guided his thickness between her damp thighs.

“Til you let me spend my life making LOVEtoyou,” came his heartfelt groan as he thrust into the silky wetness of her sex. Sara clung to his shoulders, long legs locking around him as the hard velvet of his cock pinned her. Big hands tightly cupped her bare ass.

“Night and daaaaayyyy—“ she whimpered as Grissom grunted, sliding himself into her, pumping hard with chafing strength that stroked against her sensitive flesh in searing passion. Sara gasped, writhing with pleasure with every thumping thrust. She dug her nails into his jacket shoulders, her teeth on his earlobe.

“Ohhhhhh---“ she gurgled as the sweet inferno churning between her thighs spun up through her; she arched hard against Gris, feeling her body clench hard around him. He muffled his roar against her slender neck as he erupted deep within her, and Sara cried out, aware of the hot gushes flooding her, of the wild beating of her heart that echoed his.

“Sara, acushla," came Grissom’s soft laugh a few moments later, “Are you all right?”

She could dimly feel his scratchy cheek against hers, felt her bare bottom in his big warm hands and the hardness of the door against her back. Sara nodded, not quite trusting her voice. She clung to him more tightly and he gave a pleasured sigh.

“Let me take you to bed, sweetheart. The spirit is willing, but the knees are weak, and I think we’re going to need to dip into your stash of towels,” he told her, and Sara laughed at that.

“Did I mention I get really horny during my period?” she told him brightly.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

 

“More, more!” came the pleasured groans.

Sara lightly scraped with her nails, laughing to herself. “Any harder and you’ll have grooves in your scalp, Grissom. Relax!” came her chide. The tone was in direct contradiction to her gentle massage, though, and under her careful ministrations he did.

She let her fingers slide all around his wet soapy hair, caressing the thick foam saturating it. “Natural curl, here. Do you have any idea how many women would kill to have this genetic advantage?”

“At this moment I don’t care. All I know is that I had no idea getting shampooed was a form of foreplay,” came the low response as he risked opening his eyes to look at her. Sara smiled broadly at the sight of him.

She was kneeling between his legs in the steaming fragrant tub, wet and tall. The water on his skin made his lashes long and dark, and dollops of foam slid down the sides of his face to catch in his dark beard. Lifting his chin, he rumbled again, an almost shy smile crossing his face.

“I love your freckles,” he blurted, his gaze traveling down her face and neck to the delicate curve of her chest, which was nearly in his face following the sweet scattershot of cinnamon on her pale skin. Sara glanced down, slightly confused, just as he leaned forward to kiss her collarbones, and she ended up with shampoo on her nose.

“Hold still—it’s like trying to scrub a terrier,” she complained half-heartedly as Grissom slid wet soapy arms around her narrow back and nuzzled his nose in the valley between her breasts.

“Arf,” came his somewhat muffled reply, earning him a light swat on his strong shoulder. Sara tried not to giggle, but the feel of him nestling into her was irresistibly arousing. His broad hands spanned her back, holding her against his face as his beard scraped her tender skin. She laughed.

“Hey, hey, you’ll get soap in your eyes,” she warned, not struggling too hard to get away.   
Grissom lightened his hold, but the press of her wet slick torso against his made him moan. “I think I’m addicted to you. Your very flesh . . .” He sighed as Sara reached for the showerhose and began to rinse his hair. The shampoo slid away in loose drifts under the onslaught of the warm water, and when he looked up into her face he was seal sleek, eyes big and blue.

Sara dropped a kiss on either side of his nose. “I thought addiction was defined as dependence on dangerous substances, Gris. Am I dangerous?”

He stared up at her. Sara knelt over him, wet and tousled, a wild woman with water droplets racing down her pearly body and suds clinging to her succulent breasts.

Grissom tipped his head, gaze never leaving hers. “Sometimes. But it’s an addiction nonetheless, Sara. I’ve gone past the point of merely desiring you.”

Sara struggled to understand; she twisted her torso to reach the faucet and turned the water off in a graceful move that showed off the fine structure of her body. 

Grissom reached up and stroked her flank from shoulder to hip. “This sinuous curve, this long line of power and passion. And under your skin, YOU, Sara. A woman I thought I knew until I fell in love and learned I only had the barest IDEA of you. At best, a mere shadow of the concept of Sara Raleigh Sidle.”

She flashed her teeth in a soft smile at him. “I’m not a complicated subject, Gil.”

“I disagree. In the grand design of life, women in general are drawn from a completely different set of blueprints, and yours have an added depth and luster.”

“Any profundity on my part is a matter of perception,” she countered as she ran her fingers through his hair, squeezing water from it. Grissom tilted his head in pleasure. “I have a good mind and think a lot, but when it comes to my body I’m pretty basic. I like to eat and sleep and fuck, baby. Fill those needs and the body’s happy.”

“What about your mind, Sara? That restless never quiet questing aspect of you?” he demanded softly.

She rubbed her palms along his beard before she spoke again. “Ah, well that part is still trying to understand what we’ve become here, Grissom, and to be honest, it’s a little scared.”  
She came off of her knees and lowered herself into the water between his thighs. “I worry about being inexperienced and about you getting bored with me, passing me up for someone with more knowledge . . .”

But he reached over in his gentle familiar way, cupping her cheek and bringing her downcast gaze back to meet his as he dimpled a gentle smile at her. “Amazing. Those are precisely the same things that I fear, but with myself in your place. I worry about being too old for you, about starting so late and seeming so desperate. I have no idea how to BE in love, Sara. None.”

For a second, they stared at each other, truly naked.

She smiled then, and slid herself into his wet embrace, her lips open against his. “It goes like thissss—" came her muffled words against his smiling mouth.

 

*** *** ***

 

By the time they were both dressed and nearly ready to leave for the brunch she found him in the living room; he looked up guiltily from the Varrin book, his expression that of a kid caught peeking in an issue of Playboy. Grissom set it down trying to look nonchalant, but the gaudy red cover seemed to glow against the dark wood of the coffee table.

“Just . . .” his words trailed away. Sara demurely nodded. An impulse nudged her and impishly she reached for his hand.

Carefully, she brought it up to her pale rose mouth, kissing his knuckles tenderly. “Mmmmmmm—Whatever you desire, Master.”

She’d intended her words to be funny, to make both of them laugh at the foolish absurdity of it all, but the minute they slipped out and she glanced up at his face, Sara felt a jolt of searing heat.

Everywhere.

Grissom’s lips opened slightly while his fingers tightened on hers. Suddenly he was looming over her, his eyes incandescently blue. Sara’s mouth dried out and her heart hammered in her chest as she watched his face as he struggled with his own wolfish desire, staring at her lipstick across his knuckles. Don’t.” he rasped, not letting go of her fingers.

She swallowed. “Want to.” Came her little defiant whisper. The black excitement flooding through Sara gave her chills, and the look on Grissom’s face, his barely controlled hunger made her shift her hips to fight her arousal.

“Sara, we’re not . . . ready for this. Not yet.”

She said nothing, keeping her gaze steady, feeling the crackle between the two of them as they circled that thinning line. Slowly Grissom used the thumb of his other hand to smudge away the lipstick, staring at the pink streak the entire time, his face tightly controlled.

“God it turns you ON, doesn’t it? You really DO want me to . . . submit,” Sara rasped, weak in the knees at the thought. She could see his big shoulders tighten under his jacket, the stiffness along his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“This isn’t the time or place to get into this, Pet.” Came Grissom’s low tone, striving for reason and almost managing it, “Not now.”

Sara struggled with herself, with her impulse to push him at the moment and see where Grissom would take her, but instead she nodded tightly. It wasn’t in her nature to be patient, but oh the look in his eyes was worth it.

Grissom caught her chin, lifting it up to level her gaze. “And yes, it DOES,” he whispered, “extremely.”

She quivered, hot-eyed and eager, flooded with a strange sense of power at his confession, but this concrete insight was too big to look at head on, too much to take in all at once. Gently Grissom let her go and made a show of checking his watch straining to regain a sense of normalcy.

“We’ll be lucky to find parking.” He griped.  
Sara shook herself lightly, giving him a slightly dazed smile “Even for brunch?”

“Especially for brunch.”

 

The Gilded Lily was a lovely atrium restaurant located within the Atlantis Casino, and Sara absently noted their specialty of the Buffet was spinach soufflé à la Antoine. Most of her thoughts were still grappling with Grissom’s living room confession, and it was only after he steered her by her shoulders in the right direction that she reacted.

“Hey!”

“Is for horses—suspiciously smiling mother at eleven o’clock . There are only two topics you’re not allowed to bring up, Sara.”

“Let me guess—our relationship and the future.”

He looked over her shoulder at her face, his expression comically bemused. “Actually I was going to say baby photos of any kind and reality television.”

“Baby photos?”

Grissom scowled. “You’re not seeing mine until I see yours.”

Sara stifled a giggle as delicious possibilities flooded her mind.

Grissom watched her warily.“Quid pro quo Ms. Sidle, and I suspect there are probably a great many more of YOU.”

“Spoken like a man with interesting things to hide,” came her absent reply. She was watching Olivia and Sir Alex at the table, their hands signing animatedly. As she and Grissom approached she could see a blush on the older woman’s cheeks.

“Mom, Alex,” //You shouldn’t still be blushing after thirty three years with him, mom.// came Grissom’s quick finger comment.

Olivia smiled at them both, but her handsigns were quick as Grissom politely pulled a chair out for Sara, then sat opposite her at the square table.

//Ha! Let’s see YOU get propositioned at seventy-four, Gil!//

//TMI. //

“I take it they argue a lot,” Sara murmured to Sir Alex , who gave a wry nod and smile.  
“Incessantly. They’re both Leos to the core, with a tendency to be a bit—forceful.”

Sara laughed at that, bringing everyone’s attention to her; she blushed a bit herself, but Sir Alex patted her hand.

“Just so. In fact as I recall, Olivia’s very first words to me were, ‘Stop looking at my ass and get out of my gallery’. Yes, she had a way about her even then.”

Grissom was smirking, and Olivia spluttered indignantly, shooting dark looks at both men while Sara tried hard not to grin again. The signs flew, fast and furious.

//How COULD you tell her that, Alex ! And YOU, Gil, stop grinning or I’ll, I’ll--//

“Blood pressure Mom,” Grissom warned sweetly before looking at Sara. “ Alex was working to recover stolen art for the National Gallery. He was supposed to be looking for a Battaglia, not a backside.”

“It was summer. She wore shorts. I became—distracted,” Sir Alex murmured unapologetically, smiling at Olivia.

Sara managed an innocent expression and played with her spoon. “Better than Grissom’s first words to me—‘Listen, I’m really sorry about throwing maggots on you’ if I remember correctly.”

It was Grissom’s turn to pinken. Olivia hooted unsympathetically. Sir Alex chuckled. “Did he really? What a unique courting ritual!”

“It wasn’t a courting ritual, it was an accident. I was lecturing with specimens and got a little—carried away,” he muttered defensively.

Wearing a familiar smirk, his mother arched an eyebrow at him and his fingers added, //And I waited at LEAST half an hour before looking at her ass.//

Sir Alex chuckled and shook his head. “Let’s not be rude and leave Sara out of the conversations, shall we? While I believe in the rights of the hearing impaired, I think it’s unkind to keep signing without including her.”

Nodding in agreement, Olivia turned to Sara. “Sha we hit de buffet line?” she asked.

“Sure, I’m starving.”

Both men rose as the ladies departed, and when they settled down again, Alex shot Grissom a keen look. “I take it Mr. Brown is no longer your favorite then?” It was said in jest, and Grissom rolled his eyes at the gentle tease.

“I am not now, nor have I ever been—”

“Yes, yes, I believe that’s rather evident at the moment. She’s quite charming, and your mother has expressed a tentative approval, so calm yourself, Gil.”

Grissom gave a quick nod, and rubbed the back of his neck as Sir Alex continued. “After all, she won’t start hinting about the issue of grandchildren for at LEAST fifteen, perhaps twenty minutes.”

Slightly grim but still smiling, Gris managed a chuckle. “From homosexuality to paternity—exactly how long is your tour of Europe for?”

“For a fee I can extend it,” Sir Alex offered with a straight face; Grissom made a show of reaching for his wallet.

“Enough of that—so what are your plans, if any?”

“For the moment, fluid. Neither Sara nor I want to give up our jobs or our shift. We’ve reached a workable compromise with our weekends together,” Grissom confided softly, not meeting the other man’s knowing gaze.

For a long moment Sir Alex said nothing, but his mouth was pursed and his expression remained thoughtful. “Gil, the oddest thing about love—real love—is that it expands beyond the borders we try to place on it. It cannot be contained or limited, at least not for very long.”

Grissom looked at his companion, who gave a slow knowing nod. “There will come a time when either she’ll need you, or more likely you’ll need her, and the constraints of your arrangement will have to adapt. You DO understand this, don’t you?”

A bleak look crossed Grissom’s face. He said nothing. Sir Alex sighed again, more heavily and spoke again in a low voice. “Believe me, I know what you’re feeling. I’m a veteran of the clandestine relationship, eh? I can only hope Pamela has the decency to croak before our fortieth wedding anniversary rolls around. It would gall me to no end to have to buy that cold-hearted bitch off with diamonds again this year.”

Grissom managed a sad smile, but Sir Alex met his gaze with flint and a hint of humor. “Never you mind—the price is worth it to me if it means I have Olivia for nine months out of the year. I made my choice and don’t regret a moment of it. Regret is a part of life, Gilbert—just make it the smallest and you’ll do all right.”

 

*** *** ***

 

The wind had picked up by the time brunch was over; Sara felt it snapping at her shirt as Olivia hugged her goodbye outside the hotel. The soft press of a kiss to her forehead and a wink expressed volumes, as did the little note with a website on it pressed into her hand.  
 _His first grade and altar boy photos are adorable, trust me. I’ll scan them for you once I get home. Take care of yourselves!_

Wisely Sara pocketed this saucy missive as Grissom scooped up his mother once more. She didn’t object this time, hugging him tightly with all the privilege of mothers everywhere.   
Grissom pulled back enough for her to see his face. “Behave yourself in Europe, mom. Take care of Alex.”

She nodded tightly, blinking but smiling. Grissom kissed her cheek and set her down, signing swiftly. //Love you.//

//Love you. And now that you’re not gay, DON’T behave--// came her final words.

Grissom stiffened, but his mother turned away to link her arm in Sir Alex’s, and waved over her shoulder as the wind whistled around them. Sara leaned her shoulder on Grissom’s as the limo driver helped the older couple into their car.

She felt his arm come up and around her waist, his nose nuzzling her hair. “God they’re great, Grissom. Talk about. . .”

“Commitment? Yeah. Sometimes it’s amazing to think that love really does conquer all.”

Sara slipped her arm around his waist, hugging him as she pressed her face to his shoulder to hide the surge of joy spiking through her. He hugged back.

“So, what’s in the note?”

Damn his keen eyes!

Sara frowned. “Nothing.”

“Pffft. Give.”

“No.”

“Sara—”

“Tell you what—let’s go home and I’ll arm wrestle you for it,” she countered sweetly, “Naked.”

Slowly, naughtily, Grissom grinned at her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .

Chapter Five

 

The moment of frustration stretched out, tinged by his humorous smirk, which Sara did NOT appreciate in the least.

“I meant BOTH of us would be naked,” she elucidated carefully, feeling two large and bold hands slide down the backside of her jeans.

“That inference was vague at best, and poorly worded, Sara. At this point I’m holding you to the letter of your challenge—to wit, that you would arm wrestle me naked for the note my mother slipped you. In order to carry out that contest you’re going to have to be stripped. This is a reasonable assumption.”

“I’m not arguing my nudity, I’m merely pressing my case that the intent of my challenge was for BOTH of us to be divested of clothing, Gil Grissom and you damn well know it,” came her slightly breathless reply. Grissom had her jeans down to her knees now, working with ruthless efficiency and speed. She reached for his shirt but he cocked his head at her, his look mock stern.

Grissom had her pinned against the inside of the front door, her legs trapped between his, his big body caging hers against the door in the late afternoon light. Over his shoulder, Sara noted that the Yin Yang over the fireplace was askew, in an uneven diagonal position. She blew the bangs out of her face. Grissom watched her.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter. I could still beat you naked or not, Gris. It’s a matter of leverage, not strength.”

He shook his head, one hand sliding with slow evil intent up the inside of her shirt, teasing her skin with velvety little patterns before slipping under her bra. His fingers circled the nearest pebbled nipple gently.

“Physics and their theorems apply to nonliving forces, honey. Not to the unpredictable variables endemic to flesh and blood. You may have the leverage, but my will is greater than yours.”

So saying, he shifted, his big frame pushing against her half-dressed one in a long intimate kiss of body pressure and friction. Sara writhed without thinking, rubbing restlessly like a cat against him. Grissom laughed low in his throat, pleased.

“Are you sure you want to . . . move . . . me?” he teased. 

She shot him a glare of mingled lust and annoyance that gave her expressive face the haughty gleam of a princess. “Move you? Grissom, I’m going to rock your world.”

Gauntlet thrown.

With a predatory gleam in his blue eyes, Grissom peeled the rest of Sara’s clothes off of her, dropping them on the floor without a second glance. Sara kept her expression warily neutral, but the color stood out on her high cheekbones. 

When she leaned naked and sultry against the cool wood of the door he whistled softly. “This front door is fast becoming the center of my favorite memories—“ he muttered with a soft sigh. At that, Sara pushed herself off of it and sauntered into the living room, letting her hips roll a little with each step. She was aware of Grissom’s hot stare along her body and it thrilled her in a slightly shameful way. Bringing their relationship’s focus to the most basic level was a secret rush, she realized. Grissom felt safe lusting for her here, enjoyed indulging in his own forceful sensuality.

And she did too, oh yes.

“Coffee table. Since we don’t have a desk or a regular table we need a surface to brace against.”

“At this rate there won’t be a single item of furniture untouched by our . . . indulgences,” Grissom smiled. 

Sara managed a cheerfully defiant smile.“Oh you THINK you’re going to indulge me? Pretty cocky talk.”

Her choice of words made them both look down; she smothered a giggle at the clear outline of his bulging erection hard and heavy along his thigh. He deliberately ran his palm along it and shot her a glance.

“I don’t think. I know.”

Gracefully she dropped to her knees on one side of the coffee table and propped an elbow on it, forearm up, ready. Grissom gave a mock sigh.

“You remind me of a cornered kitten, Sara. Defiant and adorable. You KNOW I’m going to win. I’m larger, heavier, more developed muscularly, and highly motivated to get that note.”

After the quiet pause, Sara commented, “And YOU sounded just like Wiley Coyote when he was introducing himself to Bugs. Same arrogance, you know.”

“I have anatomy working for me, not animators.” He carefully got to his knees on the other side of the table and seized her hand, his heat seeping into her cool palm. Sara drew in a breath and braced herself.

“Go—!” she growled. 

He caught her forward push easily and held it, his hand rock steady as she strained. Sara intensified her force, focusing everything against his buffering arm, but at most all she did was make their interwoven fingers sway a tiny fraction and she didn’t dare look up to see his expression.

“For what it’s worth, you’re pretty strong,” Grissom mused shortly.

Sara tightened her grip, making her knuckles white as she exerted herself harder.“Damn it, at least push BACK,” came her chuffed complaint. The tendons were standing out along her slender forearm.

“I don’t have to. I can let you tire yourself out against me, and then the minute I feel you slacken, I can slam you down,” Grissom pointed out mildly, almost regretfully.

Sara risked a peek at him and met his guileless blue eyes. “By the way, when I win, what do I get? I already have the note,” came her insolent taunt. 

He grinned at her with amusement. “What would you want, Sara sweetheart?”

For a second she didn’t answer, then redoubled her push against his palm. “I want it balls deep, Grissom. Tie me to those bedposts and take me hard and wild like I KNOW you’re dying to do, baby,” she growled at him.

He sucked in a surprised breath, and Sara shoved, tipping their hands to a diagonal, straining to keep him off-balance. His muscles flexed with strain at the awkward angle, but he held the position.

“Oh yeah—you know you WANT that and so do I, baby, yessssss. Make me take it DEEP, Grissom. Down my throat, in my pussy . . .”

His control slipped, every so slightly, and Sara strove harder, forcing his hand back even further, but not far enough. His expression was calm, but his eyes blazed.

“Sara—“ the warning of soft caution came out in a low rasp. Sara made a purr of desire, the sound deliciously unrestrained. All her life people had told her she had a sexy voice; now was the time to put it to work.

“Stop being so fucking civilized in bed!”

”For God’s sake, Sara, don’t goad me into something you can’t handle—“ he replied brusquely. The atmosphere between them crackled again, recharged with the sultry sort of tension Sara felt spiking low in her naked belly, sending shivers down her bare spine. Grissom’s big hand in hers was hot. His strength surged in a slow, not to be denied thrust, as he relentlessly brought their tactile powerplay back to vertical.

Sara could smell his musk.

“Oh I can handle it, Grissom,” she sighed, feeling his power radiating from every pore. “Love me. Love me the way you LONG to, baby and I’ll be SO fucking good for you . . .”

“You . . . want that?” came his ragged whisper, a soft hiss of barely restrained passion escaping his fine mouth. Sara looked at him and licked her dry lips, suddenly, completely aware of his intense masculine potency.

“Yeah—“ came her croaked confession. A hot blush surged over her face as she realized the simple truth of her words and acknowledged the hunger deep in her restless frame.

Sara wanted it badly. She wanted HIM, wild and furious and deep within her, all civility stripped away leaving just blind heat and slick strength holding her down and taking her.

Her grip softened in his; she slowly stopped pushing against his palm. Grissom’s gaze shifted from her eyes to their joined hands and ever so slightly, he tightened his fingers around hers. For a moment neither moved, then he rolled his arm back, bringing hers down on top of his as his heavy knuckles hit the wood of the coffee table with a loud crack.   
Sara stared at her hand holding his down, and then looked up into Grissom’s bright azure eyes.

He slid his hand free of hers.

“Run—!” he whispered.

Adrenaline streaked through her body and Sara shot to her feet, moving before thinking. She darted past him and around the sofa, feeling the air on her bare flesh, the carpet under her soles as she moved through the living room and spun through the kitchen doorway arch. Her pulse hammered in her ears so loudly she couldn’t hear him behind her, but every other sense told her he was in pursuit.

Sara struggled with the frosted glass door of the bathroom, yanking it open in panic. She skidded into the room and circled the bathtub, trying to think, and failing as a bout of nervous giggles suddenly hit her. When she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror she blinked, stunned at her wild eyes.

Slow footsteps coming from the kitchen made her jump; Sara clattered her way through the other door, the one leading to the bedroom. She swiftly lunged for the armoire; she tugged open the mirrored door, but before she could climb into it, a hot bare arm slid around her waist, tugging her up and away from the cabinet. She squealed.

Easily, Grissom swung her around, lifting her clear of the carpet and tossing her onto the bed. Sara bounced on the spread, breathless and quivering as she looked over at him.  
He loomed, bare-chested and strong, catching her wrists in a secure grip, pinning them down to the bedspread before she even had a chance to think about moving. 

Grissom dropped his head and pressed hot lips to her ear.“Give up?” he demanded, a laugh in his voice. The soft taunt fired her blood; Sara knew in that gloriously wild moment just what she wanted, what he wanted.

“No,” she insisted, bucking under him, pressing her chest to his in defiance, and feeling a secret exhilaration in the weight of him holding her there. He growled, sprawling on her heavily.

“Oh yes—mine IS the greater will, Pet. Now and always,” he rose up on his elbows and fished one hand back, pulling something from his pocket.

Filmy black stockings.

At the sight of them Sara’s pulse sped up again, pounding loudly. She licked her lips and watched as Grissom trailed the end of one over her nose.“Make your choice right now, Sara. Yes or no, no regrets either way sweetheart.”

A noble line to be sure, but she saw the strain at the corner of his mouth, felt the throbbing iron of his cock through the denim along her bare thigh. He was breathing hard and rubbing against her, unable to control his own animal response to her sweet nudity.

Sara nodded jerkily, excited. The moment took on an unreal quality, and she felt so aroused it seemed as if she was disconnected from her body, merely watching. Gil’s heated eyes and inescapable weight fed her hunger as she wriggled under him.

“Tie me down,” Sara rasped with fierce joy, “Do it now--!”

Rising up on his knees to straddle her slender waist, Grissom did. Efficiently, quickly, he looped a stocking around each bedpost, and then wrapped the ends around each of her wrists, knotting them at her pulse points. He stared down at her with lustful arrogance, the delicious smirk on his mouth framed in his curly grey beard.

“You look wonderful in stockings, Sara.”

The compliment made her weak with pleasure. She arched her neck, giving a giddy laugh, feeling his relentless cock pressing hard on her belly. Even through denim it burned, and she sighed with impatience.

“WANT you!” she snapped, half-pleading, half commanding.

Grissom drew in a shaky breath, his bare chest rising and falling. “Want YOU,” he echoed in a soft compelling voice, “BURN for you, Sara sweetheart!”

Never taking her eyes off him, Sara rocked her hips from side to side, rubbing herself against the inside of his thighs. Grissom groaned. “Don’t!” he choked out softly, shifting off of her to stand at the side of the bed.

Sara’s dark eyes glittered with hungry brilliance. “Your turn, Grissom—show me.”

He dropped his hands to his thighs, rubbing in long strokes, working his way in against the prominent ridge straining against his fly.   
Sara licked her lips. “Tell me.”

Lifting his head, Grissom slid his hands to his fly and slowly unzipped it, pushing the denim down from his hips. Hot and rosy, his cock surged forward out of the thick wiry fur around it. Sara swallowed convulsively at the sheer masculine beauty of his heavy balls, his lean strong hips, his muscled thighs.

“Burned for you from the day we met, Sara. I couldn’t get you out of my thoughts. I smiled and spoke politely, but after the seminar, I went to my hotel room that night with you on my mind and jerked off three times,” he mused, stepping closer to the bed and reaching out a hand to her bare hip.

Sara moaned as hot excitement sizzled through his touch. “Y-you did?”

“Oh yes. Splattered my lust all over my hands and thighs, then fantasized about you licking me clean again through that naughty smile of yours.”

Sara gasped, shocked and thrilled at his confession. She strained towards him, fighting her bindings as Grissom slid his hand up her thigh, caressing himself with the other hand. “Despite my good intentions and cautiously solitary ways, I AM a man.”

He gave his rigid shaft a squeeze, a soft expression of pleasure passing over his face as Sara let out a low moan. “God, Grissom!”

He slid onto the bed, crouching over her legs, his smile somehow serene and sensual at the same time, as he nudged them apart.

“Sexual chemistry, honey. Most of the time you radiate this faint, exotic ‘fuck me’ scent I can barely resist, let alone ignore. Then around this time of the month your hormones kick into overdrive and I’m out of my MIND with the perfume of your body.”

That husky admission made her strain hard against the thin silk anchoring her wrists, as she choked back a sob of desire. Tenderly he kissed his way up her thighs, alternating with licks and nibbles, focusing his attention so raptly that Sara quivered under the onslaught of his hot mouth and soft beard.

“But . . .” she panicked, trying to bring her knees together.

He smiled against her kiss-wet thigh. “I know, I know—I can see the string. Trust me Sara. I’ll take care of it.”

She wasn’t sure, but his soothing touch and gentle manner deserved her trust, and shyly she let him tug on the tiny cord to dislodge the tampon. A queer sense of embarrassment washed over her, and for a moment Sara closed her eyes tightly, wishing she wasn’t bleeding, that it wasn’t Grissom looking at the unglorious, messy evidence of her femininity.  
Then she heard him sigh, deeply. “On this soft anvil all of mankind was made.”

She looked up into his eyes and saw much more than she ever expected: lust, delight, awe. He lightly dropped a kiss on the soft fur of her mound, moaning happily. 

Dumbfounded, Sara felt his hands cup her ass and lift, raising her, his tongue eagerly sliding along the slick cleft.

Gasping, she stiffened, shocked but far more aroused than she realized. Grissom’s slow sensual licks along the slick pink of her inner thighs and vulva sent hard erotic surges through her entire frame. Each lap of his tongue enflamed her, each tickle of his soft beard made her shiver. Sara’s stomach tensed as he sucked in her soft folds between his lips, his growly moan vibrating against her skin.

“Sara, Sarrrrraaaaaa . . .” he whispered against her wet succulent flesh. Her legs wrapped around his ribs in a lover’s grip as she pushed against his adoring mouth blindly, taking her pleasure on his stroking tongue, arching hard in a beautiful curve of sensual power that ignited in a glorious moment of wet fire.  
Grissom caught her ass, lowered her tenderly to the mattress again as she brokenly drew breath, her nipples hard and tight on her elegant chest. His own chest heaved as he looked down at her, and Sara stared up at him, transfixed by his eyes, watching him lick his crimson-tinted lips.

“S-S-Sara!” he stammered in an aching tone of such longing that she felt an answering sob rise up. Instead of speaking she tightened her legs around him, wordlessly urging him forward as her tears bubbled over and slid down her face. He pressed a big hand on her flat stomach and guided himself into her tender flesh with the other, cleaving her in one slow hard thrust.

“Deeper.” Sara pleaded, “Master . . ."

“GOD!” Grissom dropped his head back as his cock throbbed violently and his body surged hard into hers. Roughly he gripped her hips, yanking her to him suddenly driving, pounding hard, his hands cupping the bones tightly. Under them the bed creaked alarmingly.

“Oh oh Jesus, Sara! Yes YES oh fuuucckk!” he hissed almost helplessly as his big frame rocked heavily into hers taking her hard. Sara moaned, every nerve sweetly on fire now, attuned to the driving pulse of Grissom’s thick shaft arrogantly stroking between her thighs. She lifted her face to his, savoring the taste of his sweat and her blood mingling in their deep hungry kisses as he thrust harder, his rhythm going ragged.

“Want you luscious bitch, MINE love you, love you, yes Sara fucking MINE!“ with a low howl against her wet cheek Gil came hard, his stomach tensing on hers as she felt the searing pulses of his climax spray deep within her soft walls.

For long blind moments they lay panting together in the dim light of the bedroom, tangled together in a lover’s knot of legs and hips. Sara softly kissed everything she could reach: his nose, his cheekbone, his wet and scratchy sideburn as she made soothing sounds. After a while, Grissom raised himself up on his hands, peeling his damp torso off of hers with a sticky sound that brought a crooked smile to her face.

“Grissom,” she whispered. He blinked at her but said nothing as he reached for the knots binding her. Swiftly he undid them, and brought her wrists to his mouth, kissing them tenderly. Shifting, he lay back and cradled her against his chest, holding onto her, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her lanky frame as he kissed the top of her head.

“Never. I’ve NEVER loved like that, Sara,” his low voice trembled as whispered his confession into her tousled hair.

She tightened her hold around him, a sigh leaking out of her; she heard the thudding of his heartbeat as her head rested on his chest. Sara instinctively understood the magnitude of his words, and shared a moment of gravity with him before replying, “Thank you. Thank you for trusting me enough to let go, Gil. And . . .” she trailed off to lift her head and meet his achingly soulful gaze, “. . . love you.”

He pulled her more tightly to him. Sara clung to his big bare shoulders, feeling them begin to shake as he buried his face against her neck.

*** *** ***

They took a table in the back, overlooking the lower terrace, as the ebb and flow of the late night diners moved through the lakeside restaurant. Sara studied Grissom as he ran his fingers over the menu thoughtfully. He looked good. Very good, she decided, appreciating the way his strong shoulders filled out his suit. 

Both of them had dressed for dinner, savoring a joint intuitive depth now, understanding that the bond forged through their bodies linked something greater and sweeter between them.  
Sara loved the simple knowledge of Grissom’s body under his clothing, permitting herself to remember the chafe of his fur, the weight of his muscle and flavor of his skin.

She felt distinctly possessive.

“You look like a woman with an appetite,” came his light comment, followed by a gentle smile as he looked up to catch her staring.

“I could handle some food at this point,” came her easy counter as she toyed with the long strand of pearls around her throat. His dimples deepened.

“Still holding your vegetarian stance?”

“Grissom, it’s not a stance, it’s a choice; and yes, I’m just as happy with pasta.”

He leaned closer, her words brushing past him as he took her hand in his and gently stroked the back of it with his thumbs. Dipping his head, he kissed her knuckles.

Across the restaurant and through a lull, Doctor Al Robbins looked up in time to catch the moment as it framed itself into his line of vision. He blinked, a little startled at the unexpected tenderness he was witnessing. A second later when he recognized the players he blinked again.

“Hell’s bells,” he muttered to himself with no real surprise. Twenty three years of professional experience had given him a fairly pragmatic view of other people’s foibles, and yet, as he watched Sara blush, he sighed with only the tiniest hint of smugness.

“Finally!” he chuckled to himself, and turned his attention back to his plate of Coquille St. Jacques, enormously pleased.

After all, no one could keep a secret better than a coroner.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fourteen years does make a difference. I'd like to think that nowadays I wouldn't be so cavalier about Olivia's teasing about her son's implied homosexuality, but in an attempt to keep true to what I wrote originally I've left it here.


End file.
